My Enemy's Enemy
by appalled.elf
Summary: Some are born great. Others have greatness thrust upon them. Others still are neither of these, and exist purely to make a mockery of evil institutions. Not exactly a crossover; just spans from the Creation of Arda to the War of the Ring, and possibly after. M for obscene language.
1. Year: Arrival of the Valar

Don't worry. I'm on your side.

Presumably, anyway.

You don't really need to know how I got here. I arrived long before you did, and I didn't ask where _you_ came from. Maybe I'll tell you later if you ask nicely.

I won't tell you much about me for now, but I'm not going to fill you with the idea that I'm anything in particular. I'm not ascending the ranks to be a great hero. I can't guarantee things won't get a little hairy, though, because of the nature of my job.

In school, my job was the class clown. I like to think I've refined my humour over the years, though, and I've been here in Middle-Earth quite a while now, so it's got very specific purposes. Now, I've assigned myself a new role: chief antagonist. When you read through here, you'll see it's the right word and the wrong word at the same time. I'm not _the _villain in this world, but I'm _a_ villain. Like I said before, though, I'm on your side. Don't think about it too hard. Let's just get into it, shall we?

I'm wide awake. The recent stresses have turned me into an uncharacteristically light sleeper, and what snapped the last few fibres holding my ragged slumber together was the patter of rain on the leaves of the tree I've been sheltering under.

I've seen a lot of shit since I got here last week. I arrived in complete nothingness, armed only with the contents of my backpack. It was pitch black, not a hint of light in the place. I don't think there was even ground under my feet, but I'm buggered if I know how I would have floated. I don't know how long I was suspended-or not- like that, but at some point, in what must have been the sky, I saw something pretty incredible. The darkness was suddenly illuminated with gleaming, shimmering, beautiful colours, and the void filled with song as all these incorporeal figures in the light-beams seemed to have life breathed into them. Behind them, countless stars flashed into being, like someone in the back room had flipped a light switch. I sat/stood/floated there watching these figures snap into awareness, moving their "bodies" and trying out their voices, my own vocal abilities temporarily confiscated by sheer amazement. I heard a voice from nowhere give them names, and each being smiled as they heard their own. _Manwë. Varda. Yavanna. Melkor._ The list went on. They all had facets of personality showing within moments of their inception. All of them seemed to be having a good old time singing their little songs, except for the one named Melkor, who seemed more powerful than the others, determined to be the group shit-stirrer. He made music that wasn't in harmony with the rest, and the voice from nowhere told him to pull his head in and behave. He didn't like that much, but then I guess we wouldn't have much of a story if he'd appreciated the feedback.

After Melkor's telling-off, the Valar (I had read the books prior to being snatched out of my own world, see, so I know the score) were placed down where I was. And finally, I could see that I was on a surface. It was grass! After what must have been a day or two floating in a lightless purgatory, I was about ready to do a Pope and kiss the ground. However, I didn't have time for that, because instinctively, I didn't want the Valar to see me. Fortunately, the ground was sharply undulating in places, so I was able to hide behind a big hill as they explored the land around them that they were to make into a suitable biosphere for the boss's creations.

And that pretty much brings us up to speed. I've been hanging around here since, watching these folks try to make a world.

I lie there for a second, cursing appallingly as I openly resent my forced waking state. Don't worry too much about the obscenities; I'm Australian. It's normal. Besides, nobody was nearby. I'd chosen to be a small distance from the action for a good reason.

I sigh and heave myself upright, grabbing my backpack as I descend the tree with a jump. Time to begin work again. On the grass, I start walking toward the moving figures a kilometre or so away, occasionally slipping behind a tree if I worry they're going to find me. And as it's gone since I first clapped eyes on these people, Melkor's being a royal pain, constantly trying to undermine the construction efforts of the other Valar. I watched them the first couple of days they arrived here, and it got old fast. The other Valar make something nice by singing some sweet little tunes that Ilúvatar gave them; Melkor tears it down with his divergent, self-made music. They try to re-build it; Melkor tears it down again, then makes some tawdry thing that is neither ornament nor use. Which fool gave that pest the most power? Oh. Probably the same fool who put me here in the first place. Anyway, Manwë and co. are pretty useless about it all. Not a hint of discipline in sight for Melkor. I, however, had worked with floccinaucinihilipilificatious types like Melkor for many years before getting dropped here, so I know better than to just cry and accept it when people try to ruin my day.

Sure enough, the same jejune drama's occurring today. From behind the trees I see that the sweet, passive majority have just put in some lovely hills and small woodlands, which I recognise to be the Shire from the books. Melkor, provocateur extraordinaire that he is, has set half of the trees alight and seems to be attempting the construction of a volcano some small distance away from them, killing the grass and heating the earth to make, from what I can tell, a large magma chamber. I shake my head, reach into my backpack and pull out my clarinet case. If Melkor's going to use crappy music to screw over this bucolic little feelgood zone, I'll take it upon myself to make his world miserable with the most hair-raising cacophony ever to come from a Yamaha B-flat model.

Moving to a dry spot within earshot of these incompetents, I bring the clarinet to my lips and bite the reed between my teeth. For a moment I reflexively shrink away in fear as I imagine my perpetually foul-tempered clarinet teacher shrilly screaming, "NEIN, NEIN, NEIN!" in his thick German accent as he gets ready to beat the snot out of me with the music stand. He would, too, if he were there, because slap a big nose on me and call me Squidward Tentacles, the noise that came out of this poor instrument was enough to make you beg for the nails down the chalkboard option behind Door #2. Squeaky, nerve-jangling wails cut through the symphony occurring a hundred metres away like a wet dog tearing through a perfume department. The Valar all stop what they're doing and look around frantically. They cannot stuff their fingers in their ears, of course, because being spirits, they have none. They do not know what people are, having never heard of them before. People have not been invented yet. They, fools that they are, think they're the only sentient things around here. Manwë and co. seem afraid of this noise, but after a few moments they gingerly continue working. Melkor, however, looks like he's just been forced to down a glass of hydrochloric acid. He stops work immediately and glides around in jagged, tormented circles, screaming in agony. The other Valar notice this, and after taking a moment to accept their horrisonant fate, get the idea (that I gave them) to capitalise on their villain's inactivity, increasing their efforts accordingly.

I pause in playing a moment, and Melkor calms instantly. He does nothing initially, seemingly torn between deciding whether to try and find the source of the noise, or to keep going with this volcano. He chooses the latter. I choose to start playing again. I serenade them with "Wonderwall," getting every second note wrong by an octave, and replacing every sharp with reed-bitten squeaks. Have you heard that song? Do you know how many sharp notes there are in that bastard piece? By the time I hit the chorus, Melkor looks like he's ready to sell his soul to Satan for a soundproof room. When he stops working again, I stop. When he starts, I start. Every time he decides to investigate the sound, I slip behind another tree further away, and then move back when he gives up the search.

Eventually, it starts to click for Melkor that this isn't going to let up until he does. He leaves the volcano and contents himself with knocking over a few trees now and then. I'm not sure you could ever really say that a Vala sulks, but when I see Melkor flouncing around (as much as an incorporeal being can, of course) because his magma chamber's been converted to a very thick, nutrient-rich layer of topsoil, I start looking for an excuse to change my mind about that.

_** some hours later **_

We're blessed with a period of relative quiet. The Shire's just about ready for inhabitation, though it'll be a while yet before any Hobbits are up and about. Note that I called it a period of relative quiet. It implies that it has an end. You'll never guess who kills the mood this time.

All right, stop begging, I'll tell you.

Melkor, would you believe it, is trying to change the climate of the area. I think he's still shitty about how his volcano is being used for prime farmland now, so he is trying to sing this area from a humid continental zone into the chillier cousin of Antarctica. I roll my eyes and put my crossword puzzle book back in my bag, reaching for the clarinet case again.

Suddenly, though, I see that one more Vala tumbles out of the sky and onto the Earth. For a spectre, he was incredibly well-built, and had long, blonde hair in a tight braid. I surmise that this is probably Tulkas, because when Melkor catches sight of him, he stops singing in an instant, letting the ice around him melt in the warmth he has failed to completely counteract. Tulkas looks at Melkor with the same confusion and disgust one might afford an abandoned body part one found on the sidewalk, but he leaves him be, allowing himself instead to be warmly greeted by the other Valar.

Tutting, I take my crossword puzzles back out, swearing to myself that I will break one of the trees around here with my bare hands and forcefully insert it into Melkor if he makes me have to reach for my clarinet again today. It's been a week since I've had any coffee, so I'm already irritable, but I find Melkor's shenanigans are making me particularly testy. Fortunately for me, and for Melkor, Melkor decides to do a runner before he gets his head boxed in by Tulkas. And, of course, before his entire lower digestive tract is blocked up by the tree I'm about to ram up his clacker.


	2. Years of the Lamps

Well, I'd be lying if I said that it all ended happily ever after from here, because if _that _were the case, I'd have sat under that tree doing crossword puzzles peacefully until the Elves awakened. The rest of the Valar, convinced that our shit-stirrer was gone for good, busied themselves with constructing the two Great Lamps and the little home sweet home surrounding them. It was lovely to see, but of course, I could already see the ephemeral reality of their blithely unaware happiness: Melkor wasn't done yet.

I heave a sigh, stuff my crossword book back in my bag _yet again,_ and start heading north. Melkor, you see, is taking some kind of a break to "find himself," way up in the icy, fiery wastelands of the top end.

It's a long walk, to be sure, but I get up there eventually. I arrive about two months behind him (I fancied a nap sometimes). By the time I get there, he's halfway through constructing the first fortress.

It's days like this I wish I'd taken up a career in journalism, because I'd have enough material from Melkor to maintain a weekly column damning his taste in architecture. Melkor seems to have taken the most hideous aspects of Gothic Revival, Art Deco, and Brutalist and combined them to make a building that is not only lacking in style (such combinations _can_ work when the right features are utilised) but also manages to be offensively humdrum. Ugly _and_ boring. And this guy reckons he wants to run his own world!

Melkor's workload is lightened by all the strange creatures he has roped into working for him. I spit on the ground in disgust as I watch this go on some 300 metres away, hidden away in a dense thicket of tall pine trees that encircle this bastard place. Indentured labour is disgusting, and Melkor is adding insult to their injury by wasting their efforts on erecting that repellent dullard of a structure.

I shake my head and sit down, wondering how on earth Tolkien could justify this sort of behaviour in a character he'd made.

"Moral universe my arse," I mutter under my breath as I begin the long task of establishing myself as a local cryptid.

Finally, the fortress is ready, and everything is quiet again. In the silence, I feel my eyes attempting to slam shut. What can I say? I've been walking for months on end, and I've had to subject myself to untold suffering watching Melkor and co. birth the nastiest eyesore since the Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral. I'm absolutely knackered.

Lying down behind a tree trunk, I settle my head down on my backpack, fully intending to fall asleep straight away. But of course, there's no rest for the wicked, which I suppose I must be. After what could only have been a five minute smoke break, construction on yet another tower began, with corrupted Maiar, trolls, and other evil minions heave-hoing massive blocks of stone and obsidian with ostensibly boundless energy.

"For God's sake," I mutter to myself, sitting up and shaking my head angrily. "Why did I even _follow_ this bloody oxygen thief?" I ceased my monologue as my reproachful conscience reminded me that _I_ had been the one to administer the task of keeping an eye on said oxygen thief. Something in me has had a funny feeling that it's my job to keep the truly bad guys in check with puerile, passive-aggressive nonsense. I can't think why else I'd have been brought here.

I shake my head again to try and stop my brain from going down that existential crisis-inducing rabbit hole of "why am I here?" I sling my backpack over my shoulders and start ducking between the trees to try and get a closer look at what's going on.

The sight that greets me is really very impressive, given how new the project is. Already, Melkor has carved out a massive mine, out of which the colossal building blocks are hauled by trolls chained together at the ankles. Various Maiar and other nasty creatures torment the trolls and use magic to make the environment even more hostile than it already is. There's hardly any life or beauty in the place, and any unfortunate oases of naturally-occurring niceness are quickly stamped out by the nasties here.

But it's those trolls that catch my eye. They're absolutely enormous. About as tall as a two-storey house, and half as wide. They leave footprints in the solid ice that are big enough to make a swimming pool out of, not that you'd dream of taking a dip in a place like this. The trolls walk four abreast in their heavy chains that scrape and grind along on the ground behind them, pushing slab after slab of these stones to stack up into the tower. Fortunately, though, this is where I get my terrific idea. They're building quick as you like, and so if I act fast, I'll get them at just the right time.

I wait until Melkor and his lackeys descend into the mines to harass the workers down there, and a minute or two after they've gone, another four trolls emerge from the shaft, hauling a block of gleaming obsidian. Another block to go into an even uglier tower than the last one. Hideous. It simply won't do. He's already got one repugnant structure; one is more than enough.

I wait until the trolls have—in a manner that would make workplace health and safety officers openly weep—lifted up the block to stack onto the others in the tower. Then, clarinet at the ready, I step out and play an off-key medley of Duran Duran's worst songs.

The dreadful sounds catch their attention at once. I can see three of the trolls, the fourth obscured by the tower. Two are poking out from the left, and one from the right. They look around, and they see me. I wave at them and start playing another few ear-splitting bars of "_I Wanna Take You Higher."_ They look absolutely furious. They should be.

I keep playing with one hand, using my free one to slap my backside at them in mocking derision. Quickly, I slip back in between the trees, hidden by the dense foliage almost instantly, and run to the side for a better look at the action.

As I do, I see Melkor and co. resurface, no doubt alarmed by the clarinet music, just as the three trolls, exerting terrific force as they sprint forward toward where I disappeared into the forest, rip the fourth one off the ground. It reminds me of those scenes in cartoons where large dogs on a leash suddenly bolt and their poor owner trails through the air behind them. The fourth one, of course, smashes into the side of the tower, and Melkor becomes the unwilling witness of the most terrific crash since the 1997 collapse of the Albanian pyramid scheme. Best of all, the tower had already become so high that as it toppled backwards, the topmost blocks fell straight down the mine shaft behind them. Two of the trolls were crushed, and I could hear the blocks toppling down the shaft for about a minute, taking out most of the platforms and staircases along the way.

Well, Melkor's face was absolutely priceless. Lucky for him, he'd assumed a more physical form than before. Now, he's about 12 feet tall, with arms and legs, and he puts them to good use, stomping like an incensed four-year-old in the grocery store. Scream, scream, shout, shout, rage, rage. The sycophantic Maia and baddies are all fretting and wringing their ghosty little hands as their master tantrums for a solid ten minutes. The best bit of the best bit is when he looks down the mine shaft and the rage starts all over again. I was watching this from the top of a thick, brushy pine tree. I don't often snort with laughter, but you'd better believe I'm doing it now.

He's shelved building ideas for a while, it seems, so I'm going to have that long-awaited nap.

**Years of the Lamps part 2**

An update for you: Melkor has been doing awfully well (emphasis on the _awfully)_ in erecting yet more structures and increasing industry. To be truthful, it's got me a little worried, because while the other Valar skip around in their wholesome SpongeBob SquarePants happiness and make smiling trees and squeaking bunnies, here I've been, nursing the worry that Melkor's going to lay waste to it all.

That's not to say I've been standing idly by. No, no. I decided recently to try and get a message to them that shit's been going on up here, so I've been busying myself with a little psychological warfare. It involves a wicked blend of operant conditioning and ventriloquism.

You see, Melkor was still a little suspicious that someone was hanging around in the forest disturbing him, so he's sent minions in to conduct searches from time to time. For the most part, this has forced me to hide up in the treetops, which is less than comfortable if you know what pine branches are like.

So lately, of a night time when the slaves are asleep and Melkor and co. have gone into his tower, I sometimes sneak out and nab some of the construction equipment. I've purloined quite a few lengths of rope and tied them around tree branches surrounding the area where Melkor dwells. It looks a bit like a spider web the way the networks of rope loop around the trees and because the foliage is so thick (imagine the number of pine needles I've had to pull out of me from setting this shit up), it's impossible to see from further away than half a metre. All the ropes end at one tree, which is the seat of control from where I coordinate all this.

Which brings me to my terrific plan. What makes good ventriloquism convincing is the illusory act of voice throwing. When we hear a sound, we look for movement to account for the source of the noise, but voice throwing, of course, gives the appearance that the sound is coming from somewhere else. It can really throw a person off.

And naturally, Melkor has come to associate my music with suffering and the continual thwarting of his plans, because the two always seem to occur simultaneously. It's beautiful cruelty if you think about it: I have essentially been his first impression of terrestrial life. Him, a being born and made of music, having to put up with this, thinking that it's just a part of this cruel world he's been dropped into. If all goes well, I'll have him so panicky that he'll fly into a fit of terrified rage and abandon ship, fleeing to somewhere else, or he'll make such a big, explosive fuss that the other Valar might look up from their work and notice him. You know, if it weren't for the fact that Melkor's such a prick, I'd almost feel sorry for him. As it is, though, I'm absolutely relishing it.

My first chance to implement my plan comes shortly after finishing construction. Whenever he starts to act up, I play the clarinet but also tug a few times on one of the ropes in my network. It makes it seem like the horrible noise is coming from one of the trees some 20 metres to the left of me. I tug on another rope, and another branch 20 metres to my right starts shaking violently. It sends him into a panic every time, because he gets the impression that this musical doom-machine is colossal and fast-moving. So far, he has no idea what to do about it.

**Year of the Trees part 3**

Another update: Melkor lasted a week before he dropped his bundle. He decided he hates the trees but was too afraid to go in there and weed me out himself, so he's put up a hugely tall mountain range between the forest and his unsightly settlement. I wonder if the Valar can see it from where they are. I hope so.


	3. Awakening of the Elves

I don't know what I was thinking, entertaining the idea that those wholesome Valar would catch on straight away with that mountain range. I had hoped it'd at least click soonish that Melkor was back and reclaiming his reputation as a disturber of the peace.

But no. They're naive, incompetent tits. I've been hanging around in the freezing, ugly wasteland for three months, waiting for these shit-for-brains to turn up and chase him off. Not a peep out of them. I can practically hear their oblivious, honeyed giggles as they continue to skip around amongst the flowers and rainbows.

I look up at the sky, hoping that some sort of a god is keeping an ear out for my constructive feedback as I say, "Next time around, make them a bit smarter, would you? Or at least a little more attentive?"

No answer. But at least I didn't get struck down with a lightning bolt for my cheek, so I guess I did well enough.

I stand up with a resigned sigh and swing my backpack over my shoulder. The Valar can travel anywhere in almost an instant. They should have arrived ages ago. But they haven't, and so I have to placate my guilty conscience by hoofing it all the bloody way back to Paradise Farms. Someone has to tell these nitwits to do something about their wash-out sibling before he destroys us all, and I don't see anyone else putting their hand up for it.

"Bloody workshy ne'er-do-wells," I curse to myself as I start heading south again. Well, at least it's warmer down there. I miss the tropics I used to live in. This snow and ice business isn't my cup of tea at all.

It takes about a month and a half for me to get back down there instead of the requisite two months I needed to get up there. I hope these people appreciate that I sacrificed naps and power walked the entire way down just to out myself and speak with them.

When I get there, I have a quick snack break, hidden away in a little forest a short way from where the Valar sit in a circle, chatting quietly amongst themselves. I'm hiding because this is the last piece of damper I have on me, and I'll be fucked if I'm sharing any with them after all this trouble they've put me to.

As I stand there, chewing away on my stale bread, I take a moment to check out what they've been up to since last I saw them. Honestly, they've done a terrific job of the place. The landscape is lush and bursting with plants and trees that hum and murmur happily. The sky is endlessly blue, and everything around us is bathed in the light of what appears to be a large, orange light bulb in the form of a tree. Seeing all this makes the journey worth it, I decide to myself. Not that the Valar are ever going to find out about that

My blissful moment with my pitiful snack is over all too soon, and I begrudgingly step out from between the trees to speak with the abovementioned landscapers.

"Oi! Demigods!" I shout at them. They turn around and look for the source of the noise. When they see me waving at them, their shock is palpable. Slowly (these buggers seem to do everything slowly around here), they rise and start to move toward me, the atmosphere teeming with curiosity.

I only end up getting a couple of steps away from the forest before a noise distracts them. In unison, they tear their gaze away from me and look into the distance, which seems to strike a collective horror in them.

"Oh god, this had better not be what I think it is," I mutter to myself, knowing that it absolutely will be what I think it is.

When I turn back to face the Valar, I see that they've shot off. Running to the edge of the thicket, I glance out and see that Melkor has arrived with a host of nasties that are, I don't doubt, moments away from laying waste to all of this.

As you can imagine, I find myself feeling rather nervous at this point. Though it's clear I'm not a mortal human (I have, it seems, failed to die or age for the last couple of thousand years), so far as I know, I do not have any superpowers or even party tricks. Well, aside from the immortality gig, anyway. But that may come into question if Melkor hurls a fireball at the forest I'm in and fries me to a crisp, or if I fall victim to friendly fire from the finally-active Valar.

Well, I'll be buggered if I'm sticking around for this. I'm officially in a war zone now, and by god it's terrifying. I bolt out from the forest and duck from tree to tree as I move as far away from the action as I can.

And what action. Holy snapping duck poo. There are booms, cracks, and crashes loud enough to forcibly evacuate every set of bowels within a 900-kilometre radius. The ground is shaking so hard that I'm bounced up in the air like I'm in a jumping castle. And the destruction! One particularly ear-splitting bang catches my attention, and when I turn around, I see the green field I'd been running through has been turned into a scorched moonscape. This is the kind of shit you'd need CGI to recreate in film. Plumes of smoke rise out of the ground, and the only sign of life in the place is the slugging-out going on between Melkor and the Valar a few kilometres away. It's brutal, and I'm relieved I've managed to escape.

The fighting seems to go on forever, and when I'm sure I'm safe and not seen, I sit down with my back to the raging battle and start throwing a ball I made out of plant fibre and wood. Even that small amusement seems destined to fail, because without warning, everything goes dark.

"What the-"

I turn around and see that that massive tree that was glowing with the orange light has been destroyed, snapped in two. The top half of the trunk hangs pitifully, with only the faintest smoulder of light left in it. That rapidly fades as well, though.

The only bright things in the dark are the Valar, who all flee westward, Melkor shooting off to the North.

And then I'm alone again. I mean, that's not such an issue. I couldn't really do what I'd come here to do, as I was a tad late for that, but even so.

I shake my head. "Unreal. Absolutely bloody unreal. I cannot believe these people."

As my eyes start to adjust, I can still see the stars, and light they cast on the earth is enough that I can find my way around. I snatch up my ball and throw it in my bag, wondering what on earth I'm going to do with myself.

I know one thing's for sure: that smoke stinks like hell. Turning back to the direction I was facing while all this was going on, it seems that the stretch south remains untouched. I shrug. Well, at least I might have some hope of finding food and a pleasant-smelling place to sleep in that direction. Better odds than where I am right now, anyway.

Chucking my bag over my shoulders, I set off in the direction of a small range of hills. Why, I'm not sure. Probably because people flock to hills for the views, and I'm in sore need of a pleasant view after having to watch all of this shit for the past however long it's been going on.

I'm not very good at keeping track of time here. I know I give estimates, and I shouldn't. Really, I have no idea what I'm doing. I know that I'm thousands of years old only because I remember rough timeframes of when all of this is happening, but to be truthful with you, sometimes a day feels like a decade, and other times, a century zips by in the blink of an eye. I never know what I'm going to get here. Of late, I've been using the number of expletives uttered as a metric of the passage of time. It takes me approximately 120 swear words to reach the chain of hills, and another 40 to ascend them.

And as I reach the crest of the hill, I look out over the other side. It's a beautiful sight. There are hills and mountains all around, surrounding a large body of water that's as flat as a sheet of glass. I could happily camp here, and I decide that I will. I look to the shore on my left to scope out a patch of grass to sleep on, and to my intense shock, I see that there are naked, sleeping adults strewn all over the ground like sprinkles on a cupcake. Their skin has an almost pearlescent glow to it in the bright moonlight, and they seem so peaceful as they lie there, their long hair blanketing out behind them. These had to be the Elves.

Blinking in disbelief, I turn away before my eyes are soiled any further. Don't mistake me, I don't have any problem with artistic nudity, but I like to at least be ready for it, and I want the subject to be awake and aware they're on display before I look at them.

"You had enough time to mature them into adults, but you couldn't spare a moment to give them clothes? Really?" I ask the Big Man In The Sky. "Couldn't even cover them up with that long hair or something before I stumbled on them? Fuck's sake."

I'm filled with the overwhelming desire to get the hell out of here, and I very nearly indulge that, too. Except I realise that since the Valar have gone and secluded themselves in the west to try and forget what's just happened, the first person to stumble on this collection of au naturale sleepers is probably going to be Melkor. Unless something happens to change that.

"Don't pretend you don't monitor what's going on in this world," I say to the sky again. "You don't need to put these pretty things at risk like this."

But nothing happens. Why would it? As per usual, Sky Dad's shot through, which means that once again, it falls to me to do something about this.

I roll my eyes and start descending the hill to try and rouse these people and perhaps cajole them into putting some garments on so I can shepherd them out of here and over to the Valar's sanctum. No way was I going to raise these people on my own.

When I get to the bottom of the hill and am within earshot of everyone lying down, I clap my hands loudly to try and get their attention.

"Excuse me! Sleeping, naked individuals! Hello! This is your alarm call!"

A male and female pair with golden hair right near my feet stir first. The guy's eyes flicker open and he sits up, watching me in open wonder. His gaze shifts to the stars, and when I glance up too, I see that the first signs of dawn are here now.

When he notices the woman beside him, he smiles broadly and puts a hand on her shoulder, speaking loudly. She stirs now, too, beams at him, and after they exchange a few words, the man points at me. She looks over to me and the same fascinated expression appears on her face as it had on the bloke's, and the two of them get to their feet.

"Hello," I say with a polite smile. In return, they give me this doe-eyed, trusting smile that makes me feel like I'm a cult leader. Skin crawling ever so slightly, I force myself to continue.  
"My name is- no-no-no, don't hug me," I say quickly as they reach their arms out to me. I appreciate the sentiment, but I have no desire to have two unclothed strangers embracing me. "I want you both to stand over here- yes, that's good, take each other's hands, lovely- I'd like you to stand here and wait for me, all right?"  
I point at a space to my left, near the water. "Now, don't eat the grass- don't eat anything yet, just wait for me to wake these others up first, and then we'll see if we can't find you some food and clothes, all right?"

They do nothing. They just continue to smile at me. I sigh to myself. This is going to be a long day.

I walk over to the spot I pointed to and beckon for them to come to me, smiling and speaking to them like they were little children. Which, in a way, I suppose they were.

"Come on, over here, that's the way," I say in a sweet, encouraging tone. "Beaut. Good job." I step away, holding my hands up. "Now, just stay there and I'll come back over to you when I've woken your friends up."

They seem to understand, and start quietly conversing with each other. I walk back to the others and start clapping by hands very loudly and raising my voice to a shout.

"SLEEPING PEOPLE! PLEASE WAKE UP! WAKEY-WAKEY!"

Sure enough, the only person this managed to wake was the guy snoozing at my feet. He has black hair, and when his eyes open, he fixes me with a similar look as Mr. and Ms. First Pair did. And in much the same way as Mr. First, he excitedly and affectionately wakes the woman beside him, who has a shock of long, auburn hair.

"Right, okay, lovely- yes, it's good to see you, too- no, no, no need for hugs right now, I just need you to go and stand over there," I gesture at the biddable goldenhairs who were still standing exactly where I had parked them moments ago. Except now, they move over to the Elves I've just roused, watching them in fascination. After a few seconds, they start to talk, getting quite animated and pointing at me with smiles a mile wide.

I smile back and nod. "Okay, lovely, just stay here, keep talking, I'm just going to go and wake these others up."

When I get to the fifth pair and realise that my clapping and shouting wake-up ritual is only valid for one Elf pair at a time, a wave of exasperation comes over me that I have to pause for a moment to deal with.

"You're shitting me," I mutter at the sky. "I have to wake these buggers up one at a time?" I shake my head in disbelief and get on with it, carefully getting the attention of the Elves, pair by pair, until finally, a total of 32 pairs of Elves are awake, moving, talking, and eyeing each other off as spouses.

Knowing as I do how Elves marry, I quickly endeavour to get them clothed partly so they're a little better protected, and mostly to help me forget that I just spent an hour around something that gives an entirely new meaning to a 64-bit system.

First things first, however: food. I wave and clear my throat loudly to get their attention. They all stop talking and look at me, smiling in sweet, dewy-eyed fascination.

"All right, everybody," I said as I walk up to an apple tree. "I want you to come over here so you can get some food." I beckon them over, and they all move toward me like a flock of sheep.

Plucking an apple off the tree, I demonstratively take a bite and swallow it, patting my belly and making loud "mm-mm!" noises. Picking another apple, I hold it out for one of them to take. Mr. First decides since he was the first to awaken, he should be the first to do everything else, and he wanders over curiously, politely takes the apple, and bites into it. His face lights up in a broad smile and he turns and shouts something excitedly to the others, who proceed to swarm around this fucking tree and pick it bare. Fair enough. They've been in a coma for how long? I'd be hungry too.

Now that their mouths are filled with apple, I seize my opportunity to start talking to them.

"Now, when you're finished eating, we will need to start making our way somewhere safe," I say loudly, making an exaggerated walking gesture and pointing to the north. I remember from when I was making my way down the first time that there was a land bridge further up that connected this part to where the Valar fucked off to, so that's the route we'll take.

The Elves all watch me with slightly cocked heads. I repeat the gesture, and they start to frown.

"What's the matter? We need to get out of here. There's a bad person looking for you!"

Mr. First Elf points at the water, which is shimmering beautifully under the morning sun now, and these other people just stare at it with a huge smile on their face. Honestly, I feel like I'm the only sober person trapped on a continent with 64 happy drunks. It's just absurd.

I spend the next half hour trying to explain to them as simply and straightforwardly as I can that they are not safe here, but they fail to comprehend what I'm saying. And look, fair enough. They haven't seen evil yet. They don't even know what bad is. I tried explaining it, but they didn't quite get it. The strangest thing is that they seem to understand my language without a problem. I, however, can't get a word of what they're saying. A sneaking suspicion tells me that this was another of Sky Dad's hilarious ideas to make things harder for me.

I sigh. "Look, if I ask you to come with me for your own safety, will you do it? It's very nice, and you'll meet some lovely new people."

Ms. Fifteenth Elf points insistently at the water. I groan.

"Oh, Christ. Very well, if you lot won't come with me, I'll need to go away for a while and speak with someone who can help you, because you're not safe here on your own. I'm going to leave now, and I want you to assure me that if someone comes here while I'm gone and asks you to go with them, that you won't. Tell them you're staying here and waiting for me to get back, all right?"

They smile.

"Oh, god, that'll have to do."

I pick up my backpack, sling it over my shoulder, and start powerwalking. It's going to be quite a journey to Valinor, but if all goes to plan, I should be there in a month or two (or, if you want a more accurate measure, probably around 9 000, 10 000 expletives. Hopefully the Valar won't make themselves hard to find, otherwise that estimate will probably double.


End file.
